Page 95 of Mirror Image

Then she pulled away as quickly as she’d approached, using the back of her hand to wipe away what I presumed to be a tear. She hated the emotional stuff—giving or receiving—so I knew what a big deal it was, but I played it off nonchalantly.

“Hey, so, how about we divide and conquer?” I started, pulling out stacks of file folders from the safe and handing her half. “We’re looking for anything that says ‘trust’ on it. A last will and testament is good too. Just, you know, anything that looks like it might be estate related.”

She nodded, taking her share and having a seat on the leather couch and spreading out the files on the coffee table. I took mine to my father’s desk and started to sort through mind-numbing pages of business, house, and insurance documents. We’d been at it for only about ten minutes when I heard her clear her throat.

“Um, hey . . . Mary?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve got something here with your name on it . . .”

I spun around in the big chair to find her sitting up, a single page clutched in her hand. “What is it? Is it the trust?”

She shook her head, eyes glued to the paper. “It’s, uh . . . it’s your death certificate.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jenn

Sunday evening

Back in my temporary office, I slump down in my chair and spin around to look out the window. Now that this case pretty much closed itself, I should be packing up my stuff, but I need a second to sort out my feelings. I wanted so desperately to help this young woman—whoever she turned out to be. And maybe I did, to some extent, but I don’t believe she has any clue how much support she’s going to need in the days to come. I just wish . . . What? Do I wish she’d given me a chance to do more?

Yeah, that’s just my ego talking right there. Lita used to say, “People do to you what you let them do to you.” And she was right. But there’s a flip side of that: You do for people what they let you do for them.

Samantha Kinski let me do only so much before she slipped out of this hospital and out of my life.

And then there’s Shannon.

It’s all I can do not to fly downstairs and storm into Julian’s office. The only thing stopping me is the certainty that Julian will retaliate against the nurse if he knows what she told me.

I’m just starting to sort through my email when my cell phone rings, my husband’s handsome face on the screen. I pick it up before the first ring has even finished.

“Hello, my beautiful, brilliant wife,” he says in his best sexy-times voice.

I wish.

“Hello, my handsome, heroic husband,” I counter in my own seductive tone.

“How’s it going down there?”

I sigh the sigh of the defeated, the exhausted, the outraged, and the homesick all rolled into one. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And I can’t tell you—not all of it anyway. Which really sucks because God knows I’d give just about anything to get your opinion on all of it.”

“Hmm, okay. Well, just keep it general, then. What’s the crux of the problem?”

“Hah! Where to begin? Um, so . . . a lot of things happened. Big things. Like game-changing things that have me wrapping up here early. I’m not sure, but I may try to get a flight out first thing in the morning.”

“You know I’m not gonna complain about that—but why am I getting the feeling that something’s not sitting right with you?”

“Because you know me better than anyone else.”

“Well, there is that.”

“Plus, we’ve got this really weird woo-woo psychic bond going on.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that. I think it’s more likely the fact that we’re both psychiatrists. We read tone and body language and subtext all day long.”

“I suppose. But I kinda liked the idea of the woo-woo thing. It’s very romantic . . .” I say.